


Gifts and Hopes

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Series: Hope Carried Long (Cassian/Leia) [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anxiety, Babies, Cassian Andor-centric, Cassian and Leia are both older (at least 30) so there's no age gap weirdness, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Kid Fic, Kidfic, POV Cassian Andor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cassian is a good dad, discussion of loss of alderaan, lots of soft and sweet moments, stand alone in a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17192816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: In searching for the perfect gifts for his wife and baby daughter, Cassian discovers a great deal more about being part of a family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a little fluffy holiday fic, but after chatting about Esperanza with friends on the RogueOne Server of all things magical and wonderful, somehow it turned into plot! Plot that might lead to MORE fics in the series.  
> A big thank you to RogueShadows for the beta read and all the cheerleading.

When he trips over the crib, smashes one leg into the table, and then smacks his hand on the wardrobe, all in one tumbling motion, Cassian considers that just maybe his family needs a bigger ship. The U-Wing had been designed to hold troops, not the equivalent of a studio apartment, but Cassian and Leia have made it work for the last… six years? Has it been six years of travel? Time is a little fuzzy for him sometimes, and he tries to pretend that doesn’t bother him.

Tonight, at least, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s counting time differently now. Not since the Battle of Yavin, like the soldier he’d been, or time-since-handing-in-his-badge, like the lost man he’d become… but in days, hours, and minutes of his daughter's life.

Esperanza Andor-Organa is exactly four months, three days, seven hours, and seventeen minutes old, at least, in Standard Basic time, which they’ve agreed would make the most sense to track her age.

She is also the reason that the ship is rapidly becoming too small. Well. That, and the task at hand. Cassian sighs, resuming his duty. Leia, with Esperanza in tow, will be back from the market in about an hour, and he’d wanted to have this done.

Actually, he’d have preferred to not be doing this task at all, but it wasn’t really his place to argue with Leia. The mother of their daughter. His wife. He’s not sure which of those ways of describing her shock him the most. He wasn’t supposed to live through the war, let alone ever have a family.

And he sure as all hells wasn’t ever supposed be decorating for kriffing _Life Day._ Cassian pauses in his work to look over at the droid next to him. “You know, this would go faster if you helped.”

“I see no reason to help.”

“You’re tall.”

“This is not a matter of defense, nor combat.” K-2SO gestures at the work Cassian has done stringing up the odd little battery-powered green lights. They flicker in a way that reminds him more of engines failing than the holidays. “This is a waste of time. And resources.”

“It’s what Leia wants.”

“Will she die if she doesn’t have it?”

“I… That’s not the point, Kay!” Cassian rubs his face. “And it’s for Esperanza. Not her.”

“Human small babies like lights?”

“Just babies, Kay. You can call her a baby.”

“My databank states a baby may be an insult. I do not wish to insult her. Just her mother.”

“Great. Thank you. Thank you so much, Kay,” Cassian snarls at the droid, pushing past him to open the hellish box of who-knows-what other decorations. Only occasionally does it cross his mind that Leia’s weekly allowance had been equal to his yearly salary as a captain. When it does, it’s for times like this, where she’s just purchased enough decorations to choke a bantha, and it’s for a holiday neither of them really celebrate.

Truthfully, neither of them celebrate much. Even their anniversary had slid by without notice, a few weeks ago. But Leia is certain that Esperanza needs a holiday memory, and since neither of them were ready to offer one of their own, Life Day it is.

“These are not accurate Life Day decorations.”

“Correct.” He puts up something sparkly over the bed, and another ball of glitter over the crib. There. That’s everything.

“And you’re not Wookies.”

“Nope.” He folds up the box. “It’s a secular sort of a holiday, Kay. Just an excuse for presents.” And for Leia to buy decorations and stress herself out trying to make the event perfect. It’s taken him a long time to realize that overwhelmed-by-self-imposed-obligations is a normal mood for her.

“Presents?” Kay asks.

“We’ll be opening Esperanza’s gifts in the morning.” Whatever small tokens he and Leia would exchange, if any, would be done in private. Out of Kay’s line of sight. Possibly (and Cassian thinks, hopefully) in bed. But privacy is another topic Kay isn’t so great with, so he doesn’t bring it up.

“You got her gifts.”

“Yes, Kay.” He had no idea the droid would be jealous of the child. He really shouldn’t be surprised. Cassian lowers himself into a chair, trying to pretend the small of his back isn’t screaming in pain from all the decorating, and closes his eyes.

“You should have told me.”

“Told you what?” He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, he knows Kay is looming over him.

“To get her a gift.”

“Lo siento,” he mumbles, and he’s tired enough not to realize he’s said it in Festian.

* * *

 

He’s awake the instant Leia presses in the code to for the hatch door, and by the time it opens, he’s there to greet them. Leia’s hands are laden with packages, and Esperanza is sleeping soundly, swaddled against her chest. Cassian takes the bags, before kissing Leia’s forehead. It’s the same, he thinks, as saying welcome home, but those words never come as easily to him.

“Thank you,” Leia says, stepping past him. “Oh, it’s _wonderful._ Cassian, you must have worked ages on everything.”

Her bright eyes take in the hung lights, the garlands, the who-knows-whats that he’s hung to any surface he could. It’s strange to remember this same ship with ammo boxes and guns on every wall. But it’s a good sort of dissonance, he decides, a reminder that peace is finally here.

For as long as it can be.

He’s not sure if the Force listens to him, but if it does, he’d beg it to keep this peace long enough for Esperanza to grow up knowing it.

“Where’s Kay?” Leia asks, searching the small room.

It’s a good question. Cassian moves up to the cockpit, which is empty, and then, the small closet. Neither one reveals the droid. Which only leaves… Cassian turns, climbs down the tiny ladder. “Kay, why are you in my workshop?”

“Please leave.”

“Kay!” Cassian finds his workshop door… soldered shut. “Kaytu, what the hell are you doing?”

“I am keeping you out.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He tries the door once more.

“You are instructed to leave.”

“It’s my workshop.”

“I am using it.”

“Fine!” he shouts, kicking the door in frustration. “Be careful, you hear?”

“My chance of damaging my own frame is much lower than you hurting yourself in here. For example, you hurt yourself simply walking, earlier today.”

“Thanks, Kay.”

“You’re welcome.” He turns and heads back up to a rather perplexed Leia. “Kay’s busy.” he explains. She just laughs, softly.

Esperanza flaps a hand and shouts. “KAY! Kayyyy!”

She’s been yelling that for a few days, though every other sound she makes is babble. It is, he thinks, decidedly unfair that’s her first word.

* * *

 

They eat lunch together, a nice refreshing cold soup that he’s made from the veggies she’d brought back. Leia had learned, over the years, that Cassian was much less suspicious of ingredients, instead of cooked-from-scratch restaurant foods. It’s one of the many little quirks of his she puts up with, and one of thousands of reasons he’s grateful (and baffled) that she loves him.

Cassian reminds himself that finding someone who puts up with him in all his oddity is worth having to celebrate a tacky version of a Wookie holiday. So, he asks, “was there anything you liked the most about Life Day when you were young?”

She laughs, adjusting Esperanza in her lap. “Oh we would never celebrate Life Day. We had the twelve Core-Common holidays, of course.”

Of course. Sometimes it feels like the Core Worlds are the strangest of all of them to Cassian, but he keeps those thoughts to himself. “And let me guess, your favorite was Giving Day.” The Core Worlds, he thought for the millionth time, lacked a great deal of imagination.

“How… yes.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “And yes. But only because I always liked trying to find my father a good present.”

“Oh?”

She shrugs. “It was the only part that mattered.”

“I would have thought you’d like receiving presents too,” he nods at the piles of packages she’s recently acquired.

“Those are for her!” Leia laughs, though, blushing a pretty shade of pink.

He gets up, since lunch is done, and kisses her cheek. “Come on. I think it’s nap time for us all.” She passes him Esperanza, all warm and soft, the most precious thing he’s ever held (a thought that almost feels treasonous in its intensity.) The baby yawns and he smiles down at her. He’s somehow always smiling when he looks at her. Real smiles, unpracticed, unlike any of the expressions he’s tailored over the years. Even Leia, who he knows he loves like a star needs to burn, sometimes receives practiced smiles. Not fake, because he doesn’t like that word. He’s real, he’s alive, no matter what.

Cassian sets her in her small crib, which is attached to the wall to keep her steady when the ship is in flight, and has an Alderaanian-style mobile above it, displaying glittering little baubles. Her pacifier too is in the style of Leia’s homeworld, as is her tiny outfit. All Cassian had for her was the wool blanket, which he worries is too coarse for her delicate skin. It remains folded beneath the crib, and he pulls a silken sheet around her, before softly humming a lullaby to her. He wishes he had more to give her of his own. He wishes he knew how to be the father she would need. But she is happy in her crib, her blue eyes blinking up at him, slower and slower as sleep overtakes her.

Only then does he go to his bed, in the corner of the room, the baby monitor set up where his splicing tools used to be. Granted, he’d never had a real bed in the ship either, just a narrow bunk. And he certainly never had Leia in his bunk back then. She smiles at him as he tucks close to her, because he knows she sleeps better with him holding her. Then, he kisses her temple and does his best to pretend he’s sleeping. She’s silent for a long moment, before she says, “the gifts stress you, don’t they?”

“No.” But she doesn’t answer, because she knows he’s lying. So, slowly, he admits, “I am… not used to presents.”

“Neither am I,” she whispers back.

“Leia.” He rolls so he can look her in her eyes. “You were a princess. Your family had mil-”

She cuts him off. “And they were very busy, and I spent my holidays in boarding schools. There. Happy?”

“That wasn’t…” there’s a sharpness in her voice he hasn’t heard in ages.

“I was the classic poor little rich girl, Cassian. Surely you’ve seen at least one holovid with that story, no?”

Ordinarily, he’d find her using his phrase endearing. Ordinarily, though there would not be tears in her eyes in a moment like this.

“Father always said he’d make it up to me. That one day we wouldn’t be so busy and we could decorate our home together. Mother would say that soon we’d be able to go shop for a present together, instead of her just transferring credits to my account.” Leia blinks fast, and speaks even faster. “But that day never came. I joined the Rebellion, which only made us all busier, more distant, and then…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t need to. He’s already kissing her, softly, gently, already understanding her pain. It’s both like and unlike his own. Neither one of them had the childhood they so longed to be able to give their own daughter.

“I don’t want to be too busy for her,” Leia whispers.

“I won’t let you.” He cups her face in his hands. Cassian doesn’t know how to be a father, or even a husband, but he knows how to protect people. That will just have to be enough.

* * *

 

After an hour, in which Leia slept and he stared at the ceiling, turning over blueprints for the astromech droid he had been repairing, they get up. Leia is a napper, these days, with all the waking up she has to do to nurse Esperanza, so he puts up with the rest breaks, even if he has no idea how to nap when he’s already getting a whole four hours of sleep a night.

“I’ll take her with me this afternoon,” he says, when Leia lifts the baby out of the crib. She inherited his light sleeping, and is always bright-eyed and active the instant she’s awake.

“That would be wonderful.” Leia kisses his cheek. It’s odd, he thinks, how much physical contact his life holds these days. Not the calculated touches and coaxing gestures of a spy, but gentle, almost-accidental, spontaneous moments. Kisses on cheeks and fingertips on shoulders, a hand on a thigh while he’s piloting or her head on his shoulder when they’re both reading. It’s the most luxurious thing in all the worlds, Cassian knows, to have the time and trust for such intimacy.

He’s already an expert at wrapping Esperanza into the fabric that Shara Bey had given them to use as a baby-carrier. They have a more tactical one too, that sits on his shoulders like a rucksack, but it feels… familiar… to have his child close to his chest. As if he almost, almost, almost remembers being carried like that himself, ages and lifetimes ago.

Leia adjusts his jacket collar, which he tolerates, and runs her fingers through his hair, which he guiltily adores. “I’m so glad you decided not to dye it.”

“I didn’t know I was considering doing such a thing.”

Leia giggles, “I guess I assumed everyone does, when they go grey.”

“Not all of us are famous for our hair, princess.” But his teasing is gentle. Rather than dislike his greying hair, he’d marveled at it. Cassian had never thought he’d live long enough for one grey hair, let alone long enough for all of his dark locks to slowly fade to a color like battered durasteel. Really, the only one who had been concerned by it was Kay, who’d been convinced it was a sign of Cassian’s poor nutrition.

Leia sends them on their way. They’re docked right on the edge of the town, so it’s a short enough walk to go into the main plazas where the shops are. Perhaps more people celebrate Life Day than he’d thought, because all the narrow streets churn with pedestrians carrying various boxes and bags.

The strangest thing about walking with a baby, he thinks, is that it is utterly impossible to move through a crowd undetected. Every maneuver, every turn, only draws more attention to the little one strapped to his chest. And of course Esperanza has no idea how to be subtle, and not only giggles, but waves at each passerby. She’s inherited her mother’s political skills already, clearly. “Oh, how cute,” a woman coos down at them, stopping them only meters away from their targeted destination. “Look at you! Look at your big cheeks. You’re so chubby-wubby, yes you are.”

No, scratch that. The oddest thing about babies was the absolutely nonsense people said to a stranger’s baby. The woman continues using a falsetto voice to speak to a four-month-old child, “Are you shoppy-shopping for presents with your grandpa?”

And Cassian, who had been trained to never crack under torture, never correct a wrong statement when uttered by an opponent, mutters a rebuttal. “Father.”

Maybe the grey hair wasn’t as marvelous a thing as he’d thought.

He gets Kay a replacement axle, which he would have gotten him anyway, but it feels odd to not purchase something for his best friend. Esperanza, he knows, already has many gifts purchased by Leia, but he still finds a little gift for her, one that he hopes will make Leia smile as well.

And then it’s time to buy a gift for a literal princess, and that terrifies him.

If it was still war-time he’d get her a new blaster, a better comm unit, anything to keep her just a little safer. But, he and Leia hadn’t been close enough then to even celebrate a holiday together, let alone exchange gifts. Does Jyn celebrate Life Day? He muses, and wonders if it’s appropriate to call an ex on a holiday just in case she celebrates it. Then, an alarm starts to beep. He reacts fast, spinning to move flush against a wall, arm protective going in front of Esperanza… and then he notices the giant stuffed bantha she’s grabbed.

The alarm was a simple shoplifting protection, triggered so often by small children that no one had even lifted their gaze. He steps away from the doorway. The alarm silences. He wonders what it must be like to be able to ignore the chime of alerts and warnings.

Esperanza tries to shove the bantha’s leg into her mouth. Cassian tuts gently and puts it back on the shelf. Right. It’s not enough to just be aware of his own actions and those of everyone around him. He has to take into account that there’s a tiny bundle of chaos strapped to his chest.

He digs in a coat pocket to find a small teething toy and passes it to her as a way of appeasing her. She gurgles delightedly. “Yes, I agree.” Cassian tells her. “Much better than a stolen one.”

The coat pockets though, aren’t big enough to put what he’s bought into any one of them, which makes him scowl, just a bit He misses his old uniform coat, comfortably battered in all the right places, with pockets large enough for all matters of items. But he and Leia had a particularly nasty run in with some acid-spitting Vasuii snakes on an Outer Rim planet last year, and the jacket hadn’t been within even his ability to patch. And there was no quartermaster in his life now, no way of replacing a ruined garment with another exactly the same.

It takes him about an hour of walking around, chatting softly to Esperanza as they enter and exit various shops, for him to finally come up with an idea. He just wishes he’d had the idea about two days ago, before he was soldered out of his workshop. They go to the jewelry shop, where all the glittering gems make little Esperanza very happy. She claps her fat hands together, cheering in little gurgles.

“Yes, yes.” He runs his fingers through her whorl of dark hair. “You have your Mama’s tastes, I see.”

“Da!”

“Da?” He turns her to face him, finding himself smiling at her. “Are you agreeing with me instead? Hmm? Maybe we should get Mama a nice hydrospanner instead. That’s what Papa would get her.”

Papa feels like another pseudonym, someone as removed from him as Willux or Aach. But he keeps trying it on, keeps trying to make that false identity into his real one, something he’s never had to do before. Because unlike Joreth Sward or all the others, the name papa had belonged to someone in his life. Someone with dark hair and a full beard. Someone with a rumbling voice and the best laugh. Someone who kept little licorice candies in his old coat pocket.

Cassian can’t help staring at his own hands, imagining his father’s. They had been strong hands. Honest hands. Stained with mechanic's oil, not the blood of others.

“DaDAdaaaaa,” Esperanza lectures him suddenly, babbling on and on, breaking him from his grim thoughts.

“Ah. Yes. I see.” He nods, as if she’s giving him a mission briefing. “Very good point. Thank you.”

She finishes with a very loud rasberry, her lips pursed. There's a bit of warm laughter behind him. The clerk for the store is standing there, one hand in her jeweler's apron pocket. “She is beautiful.”

“Ah.” Cassian blinks. “Yes.” He pauses again. “And very smart.”

“Of course. A fine orator.” The woman waits while Cassian tucks Esperanza back into her carrier. Then, she asks, “And what may I help you find today?”

He notices the tattoos on her face, a blue band across nose and cheek, that matches the color of her short-cropped hair. She’s Kiffar. Well, that makes sense in a jewelry shop. “A necklace.” Then, he finds himself adding, “for my wife.” He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want her thinking he needs an engagement piece of jewelry.

“Wonderful. Any occasion?”

“Life Day.”

The woman nods, and strolls behind her glass display counter. She presses a code to open one shelf. “We have many varieties of necklaces. Could you tell me a little more about her?”

No. He couldn’t. That would involve talking about things he’s not sure how to verbalize even within his own head. How do you explain to a complete stranger that you need to buy a necklace for the woman who saves your life every day?

But he’s a good actor, even if he fears he’s a terrible husband, so he squares his shoulders and provides a report. “She’s forty-one in Core-Standard ages.” Too old to be a mother, Leia had fretted. “She’s brilliant, tactical, a genius at her work.” Leia would dispute every one of those words. He doesn’t call her a hero, though he’s sure that’s the first word by her name in her official biography. Neither of them like the word much. “Beautiful,” he admits, with a sheepish little blush. More beautiful than a washed up wreck of a man like him deserves. “And, a mother.” There. The word that neither of them thought she’d ever be.

But at least in his eyes, she is much better at being a mother than he’ll ever be a father.

“I see,” the woman smiles. “Perhaps one of these?” She pushes three options toward him. “Of course, we’ll extend the chain for free, we have many nice options for Wookies.”

Cassian sputters, which makes Esperanza laugh. His face burns. “Oh, oh no. She. She isn’t a wookie. She’s ah, human. A little shorter than me.”

The jeweler’s teeth flash in an amused smile. “Ah. Forgive me.”

“We celebrate Life Day,” because they’re odd. Because the standard holidays hurt Leia too much, and he’s not ready to offer any from his own past. “Because we believe in its values.”

There. A nice, simple answer.

“What could be a better thing to celebrate than life?” The woman agrees, and pushes one necklace toward him. Her smile grows, a little too-knowingly for his own comfort. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, until he remembers that most Kiffar had slight telepathy.

He should have picked a different shop. But her telepathy can’t be that good, if she’d thought Leia was a wookie.

“Tell me about this one.” His hands try to fit into his pockets, but they’re too small. He shifts, as always feeling a little too out of place without a blaster holstered. Not that he’s unarmed, but he finds a boot holster a little less conspicuous these days.

“Ah. This is one we’ve had in the shop for many years. It needed repairs, you see? Here, and here,” she taps at tiny blue beads on the chain that’s otherwise made of gold links. “ Sometimes, it is in repairing broken things we find true beauty.”

“And where was it made, in the first place?” he can’t help it. He’s got a list of planets he can’t buy from, can’t support with whatever few credits he spends e. He’s seen too many slave-filled mines, known too many economies to be supported by spice dealers, to shop without caring.

“Alderaan.” she says, as if it doesn’t matter at all. He freezes. He’s as motionless as if he was aiming his sniper rifle once more, barely even breathing.

“How…”

“Like I said, we’ve had it for ages.” She shrugs.

“So it must be expensive.” Things that remained from that planet usually were. Leia had hesitated for a month before finally caving and buying a small painting that had been lucky enough to have been hung off-planet at the end. It’s now on the wall that he used to hang his spare rifle. He’s not much one for art, but he can appreciate the way Leia smiles at its abstract shapes each morning, as if she’s greeting her past with the dawn.

“It’s a common design,” the jeweler explains. “More of a little bauble to be won in a festival game than anything precious.”

“I… see.” He lifts it carefully, watching how the light dances over the blue beads and makes the central pendant shine.

“Gah!” Esperanza strains forward, trying to bat at it with her hand. “Gahhhh!”

“Easy, little one.” he whispers, in that absent-minded way that he’s already learned. It’s so second nature to him that he doesn’t realize he’s shifted languages.

“Fest?” the woman asks.

His face tightens. “I’m not… No.”

“Forgive me. My wife is from there. I was excited to meet another.”

Guilt washes over him. He tries to remind himself this should be familiar to him by now. With the rise of the New Republic, Festian refugees have been able to move, to own businesses, to do so many things that had been denied to them by the Empire. 

“My family was,” he admits, and puts on his Willux-grin, the easy sort of one that always got him a free drink and a lot of information. “Small galaxy, eh?”

“Smaller than any of us know.” she replies. There’s an ominous weight in her words and he shivers.

“I’ll take the necklace.” She quotes a refreshingly low price, but he pays double that, saying it’s for her time. The woman gives Esperanza a bit of shiny paper to wave around while they finish up the transaction. Doing so, her hand touches Esperanza's.

The woman freezes.

Cassian’s already calculated his timing, knows he can get a blaster shot fired at her before she makes a move. Thankfully, though, the woman only says, “I see.”

He doesn’t bother demanding information. He's not sure he wants to know, if he’s honest with himself. She pushes a small pouch his way. He opens it, slowly, and somehow, he’s not at all surprised with what he finds. He’s seen one before. That alone is enough to threaten to throw him back to the past. His heart thuds hard in his chest, and his breathing shallows. He clenches his fists, feels the bite of his nails into his palms, forces himself to stay present, stay here.

Esperanza needs him. Leia needs him.

_Do they though? Does anyone need him? Would anyone have mourned him if… Flashes of sandy beach, of darkness, of Jedha’s ruins._

He whispers to the Force, then. Begs it to keep him here. To keep him away from his past.

“Dada?” Esperanza asks, and that is enough to bring him back, one sense at a time to reality. He hears her voice first, before he can smell the perfumed air of the shop, mixed with baby powder and the detergent Leia used on this new stupid jacket. He can feel the jacket next, runs his hands over the leather surface. He should have told Leia he doesn’t like leather. That it reminds him too much of Willux, of being a man who had to kill just to keep living. _No. No, no. Stay. Present._ So instead, he runs a hand through his hair, tugging a little. Rooting himself now, in this present time. Finally, his vision focuses once more on the object in front of him.

A kyber crystal.

“This is hers.” The woman says.

“I.. no. I’m sorry. I can’t afford such a thing.”

_He thinks of ruins and of star destroyers._

_He tries not to think of the flash of a green lightsaber or the resonance in Luke Skywalker’s voice._

_And he absolutely refuses to let himself think of broken kyber crystals and the heavy breathing of a monster in black robes and a red lightsaber. But they’re all connected, he knows, and they’re all part of his child’s past._

“It is a gift.”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“This comes from Alderaan,” she nods at the necklace. “But she,” the woman inclines her head at Esperanza, “She is more that. She is from your home too.”

_The words are a metal beam slamming into his back, the roar of a bomb, the scream of a child who will never see his family again._

The jeweler’s voice is a dull whisper as she says. “My wife’s great-grandmother once wore this. She was a holy woman of Fest, according to the stories.”

He knows those stories. He pretends he doesn’t. Tells Leia that Fest was too small, too cold for the Force to ever notice. Ignores her when she points out Tatooine was just as forgotten. Imagines that he was never told of the wise elders, who used to carry crystals to heal and speak with those dead before them. Not Jedi, no, no more than a Guardian was.

“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” Cassian replies carefully. Not sounding like Willux now, not at all. He speaks as Joreth, all snide condescension.

And Esperanza starts to cry.

His ability to hold the false voice evaporates as quickly as a snowflake in his hand at the sound of her wail. “Shh, shh.” He slides her out of the carrier, turns her to face him, and whispers, “Papa’s here. Right here.” The sound of his voice, his own voice, seems to comfort her. Can she tell, already? He tilts his head, just a bit, peering into eyes that are the deepest blue he’s seen, wondering what she’s thinking. “I’m here,” he says again.

She’s still fussing, but quietly. He rests her against his shoulder and she grabs his ear tightly.

He’d had no idea his ability to be silent when faced with unexpected pain would be be so useful in parenting.

The jeweler is still looking at him. “As you said. It is a small galaxy. THis is my gift, not to you, but to the light of lost worlds, which she carries. The hope for the future.”

He’s pretty sure it wasn’t just the great-grandmother who’s Force-sensitive, but he won’t say that. Instead, he caves. “Thank you.”

Esperanza stops tugging on his ear the moment his fingers close around the cyrstal. It’s cold, like holding ice. He knows enough to know that Jyn’s never felt so cold. Nor did he ever remember catching the faintest memory of a warm hearth, of the voices of his family whispering to him, the few times he’d touched hers.

“Thank you,” he manages to tell the woman. She just nods at him.

* * *

 

There’s no way he would have gotten through one mission, let alone the hundreds he had, if he let anything shake him for more than a moment. So, by the time he leaves the store, he’s tucked away all his emotions. He strolls back toward the ship as clear eyed and calm as he’d left it, even managing to whistle a tune to keep Esperanza entertained.

Cassian believes in the Force, of course. Has for as long as he can remember. But at this moment, he misses when the Force was just a distant mystery, a map for a planet he never planned to visit. Now, the Force wraps around every breath he takes, every moment. It’s no longer a place, though it is still a mystery. Instead, it is a part of his life, as intimate as a heartbeat or the sigh of a lover in the middle of the night.

It scares him more than anything else right now. Because the Force can’t be fought, and a destiny can’t be avoided. The kyber crystal is heavy in his pocket, as heavy as obligation, and as cold as the past.

The planet’s single sun is setting far in the distance, turning the U-Wing into a silhouette. Cassian stares up at it for a moment, the shape so familiar, the location as unusual as any these days. Home is Leia, wherever she is. It doesn’t matter where the ship is docked, or what they’re doing on the planet. Doesn’t even matter if they’re celebrating some stupid holiday. He’s here, and he’s alive, and he is, at least more than he’s ever been before, happy.

But it’s getting late. Only a few hours left to take care of presents, to make sure that Leia is happy with the decorations, to get Esperanza to bed, and to figure out what the hell Kay was doing in his workshop.

The kyber crystal, he thinks, can wait for tomorrow. Or for another year.


	2. Chapter 2

The U-Wing, the place they’ve made into a home, with all its modifications and adjustments, trading viewports and heavy artillery for more living space and furniture, waits for him. Before entering, he comms Leia, “I’m going to head around to the workshop and check on Kay.”

“That’s fine. I’m still working in here.”

“Working on what?”

“Things.”

He shakes his head and turns to the second, smaller entrance into the ship, more of a loading window than an actual hatch. If Kay’s still in there, he can pass Esperanza up to him and then pull himself through. He knocks on the wall by the window. “Kay?”

There’s no answer. “Kaytu!”

Nothing. “KAY!” he tries a third time, not panicked, just annoyed.

And this time, Esperanza joins in. “KAAAAAAY! KAY! KAY KAY KAY!”

The window opens a crack so just the edges of Kay’s glowing optics can be seen. “Hello Small Cassian. Cassian. I am busy. Please try to keep small Cassian better entertained so she doesn’t need to call for me while I am working.”

Cassian tilts his head and counts to twenty and still lets out a few curse words in Huttese, because this is far beyond ridiculous now. “Kay. I need my workshop.”

“As do I.”

“I need it. Tonight. To make a gift.”

“I believe I was here first.”

“It’s my ship.”

“And you said I had full rights to it.”

He had. But he’d meant in an autonomy sort of way, not a lock-him-out-of his-own-workshop way. But short of breaking the door down, which he won’t, he’s stuck. So, he pulls out the comm, and maneuvers the few toggles to make it capable of long, long range messages. Technically, longer than should be possible, but Jyn is terrifyingly good at slicing into devices and getting them to do what she wants.

Cassian considers for a moment the oddity of using an ex’s gift to contact his ex’s other ex who is now married to his brother-in-law, and then gives up at that pondering. “Skywalker?”

“Cassian! Hey, how have you been?” the voice, even through a staticky comm is bright and bouncy and energetic enough to baffle him.

“I”m fine. We all are. I’m sure Leia--”

“Are you all ready for Life Day?”

Right. Of course. Of course the other twin also celebrated it. “Did you even know a wookiee before Chewbacca?” There were _other_ holidays, surely. Even if Leia promised him there would be no singing, no robes, he’s just not sure what the appeal of this holiday really is. It feels like a punchline to a joke no one’s telling him.

“Nope.” There’s a pause, and a shout, “No! Don’t touch that. Back outside. No juggling plates, thank you.”

“Should I call back?”

“Ah, no it’s fine. Teenagers. Wild to deal with, that’s for sure.” Luke’s home was half orphanage half Jedi teaching school. “Anyway, why did you call?”

“I need a favor.”

“You sound like Han.”

“I do not!” It’s one of the few comparisons that can make him raise his voice.

“Sure, sure. What’s the favor? And you know, I was thinking… Has Esperanza shown any....”

“Any what?”

“Unusual tendencies.”

“You can say the Force, Skywalker.” He does believe in it. He knows its real. Knows its power. And he grows more afraid of it each day. Because now he’s thinking of Esperanza’s skill at reading him, at knowing when he’s not being genuine. At her fussing until they had that damn kyber crystal. And that leads him to a vision of his daughter leaving them behind, heading off on a destiny wrapped in a dark cloak with a lightsaber in hand. In Cassian’s worst vivisions, that lightsaber glows as red as blood and sharp as loss. “And no,” he lies. “She’s a wonderful, but ordinary little one. She has started saying Kay’s name though.”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled.” Skywalker either believes him or is letting the comment slide. “What’s the favor?

After that, he wraps up his conversation with Luke quickly. He figures if Luke can’t honor the request, Bodhi will help.

* * *

 

Leia is wrapping a box in brightly colored paper when he enters the room The sight makes him hesitate, his back to the wall of the ship, his shoulders curving a bit around Esperanza to keep her safe and sleeping. Because he’s just… observing Leia. There’s a little glitter on her cheek, and some paint on her fingers, so she must have hand-made something. Her hair is down in a long curtain, only two tiny braids pulling it away from her eyes. That alone makes him feel warmer. She told him, once, that wearing her hair down was too much of a risk for most of her time in the Rebellion. That she feels prettiest, safest, when it’s down, and not tucked away in a complicated bun or crown.

In this moment, he has to agree. He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as her right now, complete lost in her task, humming to herself. Wrapping a box which already has no information about what might be inside seems like such a frivolous waste of time to him. But that thought makes him smile, just for a moment. Because they have time for frivolous things now. TIme for wrapping paper and glitter and decorations. Time to live.

Then, Esperanza burps, which amuses herself enough to start cackling, that strange maniacal little baby laughter which makes him chuckle silently in return. “I’m glad you amuse yourself, little one.”

Leia looks up at the sound of his voice. He tries to keep that smile on his face for long enough that she sees it too. Real smiles never last long, but then again, neither do good things, at least not in his life. What he’d had with Jyn had been good, before their insecurities and sharp edges and… the everything they were, back during the war… had sliced into their intimacy. Then, there were years of cold nothingness, before his time with Leia. Before he found hope again. This time, he wants to believe it’s going to last.

“What are you thinking?” She rises and crosses the small room to him, kisses him on the lips. His hand slides to her waist, keeping her there for one moment longer than usual. Esperanza gurgles and shoves a handful of Leia’s sleeve into her mouth.

While Leia carefully untangles herself, he says, “I guess, about when we first started… you know. Being. Being together.”

“Oh, you mean our courtship?” She says the word with a bright twinkle in her eyes.

He snorts. “I am not a man who knew how to court.”

“And yet it seems to have worked out for you just fine,” she teases, kissing his cheek. “Isn’t a marriage usually the end result of a courtship?”

“I think, with a term like that, the expected end goal is more related to land acquisitions or peace treaty production, princess.” His comment is maybe a little too sharp. But he’s still thinking of the Kiffar woman, of the crystal in his pocket and the legacy his daughter will inherit. And that terrifies him.

“Cassian.”

He gives her a look in response, one eye raised just a little bit. It’s true. Soldiers didn’t court. They kissed in dark hallways after battles, proving to themselves that they were still alive, and pressed together in narrow bunks on ships headed to yet another doomed battlefield. And even if he wasn’t always a soldier, he was a spy, and spies were never allowed to have something as real as this. Spies courted, that was probably true, though not in the way the word should be used. It was the same as the way a spy smiled, with only their face and never their eyes, because in the end, the spy’s emotions were fake. A spy would woo some unsuspecting mark to get the information they needed, buy government secrets with flowers and compliments and kisses. Refugees from Fest? They had no money, no resources to even think about courting. The Empire hadn’t let them move out of camps, let alone have any legal documents like a marriage contract. He was all of those things; soldier, spy, refugee, and none.

“If you had wanted courtship, you should have paid more attention to those senators who were always inviting you to dinner,” his voice is still too cold, and try as he might, he can’t change it. Because it’s true. Because Leia did deserve a courtship, flowers, ball gowns, a grand ceremony of marriage, announced and applauded by the whole senate. She deserves someone handsome, charming, brillant, and kind. Instead she got stuck with a selfish, broken old spy who fell asleep on her settee, his muddy boots staining her Guavia wool carpets, whose only gifts to her were the fears that left him shaking in the night, who kissed her to hide from his nightmares, who held her with hands that had been forever stained with others blood, and married her in a ceremony that cost him less than a hot meal.

“Don’t,” she whispers, still leaning against his side. She’s surrendered her hand to Esperanza, letting the baby wrap her tiny fist around one of Leia’s fingers.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not worth this,” she whispers. “Don’t do that to yourself. To us.”

“I don’t deserve any of this, Leia,” he replies, a note of pain finally creeping in amid the ice. “You, Esperanza, a life?” He shakes his head. “And you deserve more.”

“Fine then. If I deserved five gold rings, and you only had three, what would you do?”

“Odd jobs until I could afford all five for you?”

“Very funny, Captain Andor.”

He sighs, and his breath ruffles her hair. “You know I would give them to you in a heartbeat.”

“Good,” her lips press against his neck now, warm and urgent. “So give me you. If you think I deserve more than you, don’t you dare deprive me of what you are.”

“A poor substitute?”

“All I could ever want.” She kisses the spot between his collarbones, her hair brushing over Esperanza, and then, spins away from him, scooping Esperanza up at the same time. It’s a dance he’s seen so rarely, the turning of a mother and child, Esperanza trusting those warm hands entirely and Leia keeping her safe, so safe, as they turn. She settles the baby on her hip, which is usual for her, and walks to the tiny kitchen unit.

And that is enough to snap him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking dinner!” she calls back, lightly.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he mutters, following her over.

She bats at him with a spoon. “No, no I’ve got it under control. There’s a recipe I found where you just add pata root and powdered cheese to water, and it turns into a nice soup.”

“Mm.” He puts his hands behind his back, and bites the inside of his cheek to say nothing else.

Meanwhile, Leia is vigorously stirring together the chunks of root, the powder, and the water. The chunks bob in the bowl like icebergs. She growls in frustration. “Will you take her?” He does, sliding out of the posture of a soldier and into the one he’s learning, the stance of a parent holding a child. Leia adds, as they transfer the baby between them, “I think I need two hands, to stir harder.”

“Yes, because that is definitely the source of the problem.”

She glares up at him, then, holds the spoon more like a lightsaber, and starts churning the mixture faster and faster. The root pieces spin, the powder clumps a little, and the water sloshes on to the counter. A tiny part of him wonders if Leia’s poor cooking skills come from a life where spilled food was an inconvenience, not a crime.

He busies himself chatting with Esperanza instead. “And how are you, hmm? Did you tell Mama that you wanted soup for dinner?” He tickles her chin, which makes her giggle and babble back at him. “I know, I know, I’ll make migas tomorrow. I know those are your favorite.” She of course, wouldn’t have solid food for months yet, but there was no reason why one of his favorite dishes couldn’t be hers. Beside, there would be left over pata root, which he’d need for the recipe. Or --- ”Leia!” he starts to shout and drops his voice mid-moment, turning it into an exasperated grumble.

Thankfully, it’s enough to stop her, her hand still holding up the container of diced root, but not yet dumping it into the already very full bowl. “What?” she asks. “I thought maybe it could use more roots.”

“I am rather sure that’s not the problem.”

She stares down at the bowl. “You know exactly what the problem is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to tell me because I cried the last time you told me what I did wrong to that bantha steak.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me if I promise not to cry?”

“Yes.”

She finally looks up at him again, and is smiling. Passing him the spoon, she says, “Or maybe, I just let you fix it and we pretend there is no mistake?”

“And you are so sure I can fix this?”

She kisses his cheek. “You can fix anything.”

It’s such a simple little sentence, and yet, from Leia, it feels like everything. She’s told him, so many times, in soft whispers and anguished cries, that she’s broken too. That she doesn’t know how to mourn, that she’s afraid she doesn’t know how to love. He is broken by the work of his hands, and Leia is broken by the tasks asked of her heart. But if he… if he can fix, can heal her wounds, then he has a reason to stay, to exist, to live.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Leia is seated at the table, nursing Esperanza, and Cassian has just finished up the stew. “That smells incredible,” Leia comments. “Was it supposed to smell that… you added spices, didn’t you? Cheater.”

He shakes his head. “It’s no different than adding a scope if you need an accurate shot. When you have the tools,” and know how to use them, he thinks, but he decides not to add that bit, “you should use them.”

Leia takes a spoon to her bowl of stew, and the tiny moan of happiness she lets out quite erases any frustration he might have had at her failed cooking. They eat in comfortable silence, because he still doesn’t quite know how to do anything else. Even sitting down at a table to eat was a dramatic change for him. Meals had been eaten as quickly as possible, his whole life, scarfed down during a briefing or alone in his room, reading a datapad with his free hand. After, they tuck Esperanza in, the routine practiced and familiar to all of them. Cassian stands behind Leia, so that she won’t notice his hand going to his coat’s inside pocket.

Because the outside pockets are too small. Kriff, he really hates this coat. It’s even a little too snug in the shoulders, which annoys him. He likes his clothes loose, more something to inhabit than something to wear. He stops fussing with his jacket in time to whisper goodnight to his daughter, when her eyes finally stay shut, her lashes dark against warm skin. Her little whorl of hair is dark too, like her mother’s. Or, he supposes, like his, but Leia’s hair is far prettier.

It’s still early in the night, and they pull the shade down over the area around Esperanza’s crib. It was a genius invention by Bodhi, a set of rollup curtains which make her crib into a small private room, filtering out sounds and any lights. But the walls are thin enough that both overprotective parents can ensure that she’s still sleeping soundly.

Just as much of a tradition as the bedtime story to Esperanza is the long, passionate kiss Cassian gives Leia after. Wrapping her in his arms, holding her like she’s his raft on a dangerous sea. His kisses burn more than ever tonight, because the flashes of the past still flutter through his mind, the way artillery rounds echoed on the battlefield. Leia melts against him, her hands pressing into the small of his back.

After one more lingering moment, he pulls away, brushes a final kiss to her forehead, and simply keeps his arms around her, chin lightly resting on the crown of her head. Another day is done. He tries not to count them down, as if there’s a finite number of days until some new catastrophe. He tries to believe that he could really be this happy for the rest of his life. But if he starts believing that, he knows he’ll just break when the hard times do come.

"What do you want?" Leia asks softly. "For a present?"

"Mm. Something that you can give me in..." he looks down at his chrono from where his arms are wrapped around her waist. "Two months and six days."

She lightly punches his arm. It's playful but her form is still perfect. "You're counting?"

"You kept lying and pouncing," he drawls the words back to her in her same tone she used. Keeping everything warm and light and soft, just the way she wants the galaxy to be, or at least, their own little planet found inside the battered U Wing. Both of them know, of course, that reality is so much colder and harsher, but Leia pretends and Cassian supports her. Because it beats him falling deeper into his usual thoughts. Even in this matter, it’s worry, fear, concern, that keeps him watching the calendar, being sure not to rush things with her. She’d just given birth, and the med droid had said she needed six months to heal. He wouldn’t do anything to risk any part of her healing process.

He’ll never do anything to put her in harm’s way at all. That thought terrifies him. He’s been trained to see people as expendable, been told that everyone dies at some point, that the mission is always the most important thing. But no one’s ever told him what to do when his only mission is to keep someone alive.

Leia is peering up at him, worry creasing her brow. So he simply says, “the water should have been boiling.”

“What?”

“In your recipe. The water should have--”

He stops talking because she’s grabbed his face to pull him down for a hard kiss. After, she just shakes her head. “I’m going to cook something, one of these days.”

“May I suggest tea? It’s a complicated recipe. It involves both pouring and boiling…”

This time he yelps, because she’s pinched his butt. He laughs, and the two go and sit on their bed, transitioning from kissing back to work, both of them typing away at their own data pads. He eventually goes outside, explaining to her that he’s got to check something with her gift. The night air is crisp, not cold, and he walks for a little while, clearing his head. He has a little more tinkering to do with both gifts. He ends up sitting at the base of his ship, working on the items. It’s no different, in some ways, than what he used to do on the base. Many of his missions meant an early morning departure, and it was always easier for him to check and re-check his gear in dawn’s pale light than to try and sleep a little more.

Back in the U-Wing, the lights twinkle like stars, and Esperanza hums to herself in her sleep. He creeps in with the silent steps he’s never stopped using. Now, though, they are just as practical. He looks around the cozy little apartment, carved out of the holding bay of a troop transport. If he just pretends Kay is sitting peacefully in the corner instead of locked into the workshop, Cassian thinks tonight might be one of the best ones in a while.

That feeling only grows when Leia sways up to him, a gleam in her eyes. Her hands rest on his shoulders and she whispers, “your first present is under this dressing gown.”

He’d never had a reason to know what a dressing gown was before her. Now, he finds that they’re one of his favorite garments to see her in, the way the rose-colored fabric drapes over her frame, the softness of the silk as he runs a hand over her sleeve… it’s a banquet for his senses and he’s finally learning how to let himself feast.

He kisses her next, long, and slow. “To the cockpit, then?”

She giggles. “It really is a fitting name.”

Somehow, that comment makes his ears redden, as he leads her into the smaller second room. With a curtain over the viewscreen, it’s their small private room, close enough to hear anything from Esperanza’s crib, but enclosed and away from her enough to let them have some intimacy. Leia pushes him gently into his captain’s chair, and he lets himself fall back, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Slowly, she unties all five bows on her gown. Each one reveals a little more creamy skin, a little more of the smooth planes of her body. She’s as beautiful to him as ever. “L...Leia….” her name comes out as a stuttering sigh when the robe falls to the ground.

Because she’s wearing some incredible, ridiculously complicated little outfit underneath. It’s all lace and ribbons and danger. The way the ties wrap around her hips make him think of a present, one he can’t wait to open.

“You like it?” she shimmies, just a little.

“Yes.” His ability to find more than one word at a time is rapidly disappearing. Leia takes his hand, lets it trace down to her hips…

“Happy Life Day,” she whispers.

Somewhere between that moment and when she drops to her knees, Cassian’s decided that maybe the holiday isn’t so bad after all.

* * *

 

He wakes before her in the morning. Checks the monitor by the bed to make sure Esperanza is still sleeping, and then carefully creeps out of bed. The Caf maker has an auto-timer, which means it’s brewed and waiting for him. He pours a large mug, adds almost as much dehydrated milk powder, and then five packets of sugar. Another luxury, he thinks. Not only to have the supplies to make caf the way he likes it, but to have the time to sit, drinking his caf, and watching the two most important people in the galaxy sleep peacefully near him.

And then, there’s the roar of an electro-saw from the workshop.

“Kay!” he shouts, instinctively, leaping up. Esperanza wakes screaming, and he has no idea if it’s from his yell or the noise of the machine. Kriff. He moves to the baby first, scoops her up, shushes her as he heads down the ladder carefully. “Kay? What the hell is going on in there?”

Leia would tell him not to swear in front of Esperanza, but he’s pretty sure that’s going to be a lost cause. Esperanza is still crying, but softer now, just from the shock of being woken. Kay doesn’t answer, which means he resorts to one last, incredibly petty, maneuver. “Kaytu, you’ve made Esperanza cry. Please come out and tell her you’re all right.”

There’s the groaning noise of soldered metal being yanked away, and then, Kay’s head appears in the small space of what used to be the top corner of the door. “Little Cassian do not cry. I am unharmed.”

Upon seeing her favorite droid in the galaxy, Esperanza’s tears halt and she gurgles with joy, waving both chubby arms at him. “Kaaaaay.”

“Yes. That is me. I am here. I am unharmed.”

She babbles a little more at him, punctuating her sentence with a large spit bubble. Kay replies, “I will return to you shortly, Small Cassian. I apologize you’ve had to spend so much time with subpar companions.”

Cassian glares up at Kay and taps his foot.It’s mostly play-acting. He’s delighted that Kay has bonded so quickly with Esperanza. He’d been worried… he’d never thought to add any protocols for babies when he’d reprogrammed him, ages ago. But Kay is far more than the sum of that early reprogramming, something that pleases and amazes Cassian every day. It’s a metaphor a little too close to parenting, he thinks. That you can give someone a new program to run, but they have the freedom to grow far beyond that.

“We’ll wait for you for gifts,” Cassian says. Esperanza waves a two-handed goodbye as they leave.

When he returns to the main living area, he finds Leia already awake, and wrapped in his jacket. He doesn’t dislike the garment nearly as much in that moment. She’s so slight that the tailoring that had been too tight on him is still too loose on her. “That’s a good look,” he kisses the top of her head, and passes her esperanza. “You should keep it.”

“Then what will you wear?” There’s a teasing light in her eyes. “Something from your vast wardrobe collection, I assume?”

It’s an old joke between them. When they’d finally made the leap to moving in together, she’d been shocked that he had exactly two pairs of trousers, three shirts, and one jacket, which was his standard issued Alliance once, faded then, and now, sadly destroyed. He’d never seen a purpose for much more than that. Leia had fussed, of course. She didn’t need to know, though she had found out, that he did have many other garments, all neatly folded and packed into one crate. All of them not his, but belonging to the various roles he plays, the different men he has been on different worlds, all for the good of the Rebellion. He could no more put on the fine Iriaz-wool cloak that Willux wore than Joreth’s Imperial uniform. They were tools, to be used when needed, discarded when broken. He thought of himself the same way, then, and sometimes, even now.

But this morning, with a fresh mug of caf in hand, and his family at the table with him, he doesn’t feel at all like an instrument to be used for the success of a greater mission. Cassian, instead, feels… at home.

There’s a few small presents on the table, the ones Leia had wrapped yesterday. She’d already told him what little gifts and outfits she’d picked up for Esperanza, but there’s two unfamiliar boxes. Softly, she whispers, “I got Kay a droid-sized baby carrier. Like yours.”

Cassian grins. “He’ll love it.”

* * *

 

The droid in question clanks into view a few minutes later. “Is this when we sing? I saw videos of Life Day. Singing displeases me.”

“No singing.”

“We’ll just skip to presents,” Leia declares. She pushes the other large box at Cassian. “Open it.”

“For… for me?” He’s not quite sure what to do. He knows how to open presents, of course. He just can’t remember the last time he got one. Maybe ages ago, when he’d been a boy running around one of the bases… sometimes someone remembered he had birthdays and a hasty little party would happen. But those memories are foggy and painful. Enough so that his hands tremble when he carefully opens the paper, trying hard not to rip it so it can be re-used. Then, he reaches the box, which he lifts the lid off from. “Oh,” he says, softly, his hand running over what’s inside.

He unfolds the brown jacket, the canvas so familiar under his fingers, the weight of the garment the same comfortable heaviness it always had been. Because it was a comfort. To wear this jacket, to leave the latest persona behind and become Captain Andor again, to be as close to himself as he’s ever been. The jacket that’s been his blanket, or his pillow, depending on weather, that has just the right number of pockets, that hangs just right on his shoulders. This one isn’t his, of course, but it is....

“I had your old records of items from the quartermaster pulled up and tracked down the supplier for that year.” Leia comments. Given the nature of their forces, the Alliance didn’t always keep the same producers of uniforms for more than a year, rendering their uniforms quite disparate across their forces. It was why he’d given up looking for a replacement. The few he’d found had been blue, or with a different number of pockets, or… well. Just not right.

“You amaze me,” he said softly, before shrugging the brown coat on, and letting out the smallest sigh. It’s a little stiffer than his had been, but that means he’ll get to break it in himself.

“It’s just a coat.” Kay replies from where he stands. “I’ve saved your life. That’s more amazing.”

“You are both amazing, in many ways, and not all of them are the same.” Cassian counters.

“Well, it is a little selfish,” she smiles with the faintest blush in her cheeks. “I’ve always liked how that uniform brings out the warmth in your eyes.”

He raises an eyebrow. She’s never mentioned noticing him before… before the time after the war. They’d know each other, as compatriots in the war, but no more than that. Or so he’d thought. But today, she just pushes her empty mug at him. “Want to make me some decaf?”

Cassian does so, and when he brings it over to her, two minutes later, he swings by the hiding place for his presents. Both are small, and not nearly as thoughtful as Leia’s, he thinks, but he tried. He’s never done this before. He sets them on the table, and sits back in his chair.

Leia picks one up. “Did you wrap them in…”

“Scraps from that dress you ripped, yeah.” He shrugs. “It works?”

“It does.” She passes the one with Esperanza’s name to the baby, who bats at it with clumsy fingers. “I’ll help you, darling,” Leia says. “This is from Papa. Isn’t that exciting? Let’s see what it is!” Leia undoes the knots on the fabric, and then coaxes Esperanza into pulling off the cover, to reveal a tiny stuffed U-Wing.

“Cassian!” Leia cries with delight. “It’s so… it’s precious. Where did you…” she pauses again, skimming her fingers over the fabric. “These are pieces from those maternity dresses I tried to throw out. I recognize that blue linen. Did you…”

He shrugs.

Kay adds, “He is an accomplished sewer. I have seen him repair many ripped items. Can you sew, Leia? I doubt it. Not like---”

“Kay,” Cassian sighs. “Please.”

“But she can’t sew.”

“You’re right.” Leia’s smile is bright and soft like dawn. “I can’t. And I’m so glad he can.” She lets Esperanza hold the toy. The baby grabs it two-handedly, squeezing it hard. And that activates the pressure-chip he’d gone to buy yesterday. The recording crackles to life.

 _Sleep tight, my darling._ Leia’s voice whispers. Followed by Cassian’s gruffer, softer, _We love you, Esperanza. Our treasure. Sleep safely._

The recording then plays the song he sings to her every night. Cassian finds himself looking up at the ceiling, at those damn Life Day decorations, trying hard not to let the burning in his eyes turn into tears. It’s Kay’s hand, squeezing his shoulder, this time, that brings him back to the present.

“You are good at making gifts, Cassian. I enjoy this Life Day after all, now that I have been assured it has no singing.”

His warm rap on the droid’s chassis is one of his weakest, his hand having no tension it. He’s all weakness right now. All gentle love and warmth. “Thank you, Kaytu.” He moves forward, passes Kay the box for him. “Here, old friend. It’s small.”

“Is it also a stuffed ship?”

“No.”

“Did you sew it?”

“No.”

Kay’s shoulders droop. Cassian shakes his head ruefully. “I’ll make you one next. I still have some fabric.”

“I would prefer an X-Wing. I’ve always found them very dashing.”

“As you wish.” Cassian watches Kay open the box with the axle, and Leia’s present to him. The droid is surprisingly pleased with both, which makes Cassian happy. They all take a small break, and Cassian cooks up the migas he’d planned to, scrambling some crupa eggs with the pata root and other spices. They eat, and Esperanza babbles at them. All three of them; Imperial security droid, former senator, and master spy, nod and respond to her gurgles as if she is the wisest of philosophers.

* * *

 

After the meal, Esperanza reaches for Cassian and he holds her one handedly, while he passes Leia the other little cloth-wrapped present. He says nothing, just watches.

Her eyes grow wide. So the necklace was Alderaanian after all. He knows that expression Leia is wearing, that longing for the planet she had loved and had sacrificed. “Oh, how sweet,” The way her voice trembles says so much more than the words. “It’s…” and then, her finger finds the tiny switch he’d installed, late last night, using his back-up tool kit. It had been tricky, but no worse than many locks he’d cracked over the years. When she flicks it on, the little pendant projects a small, flickering holo. It shows Bail and Breha, first, and Leia’s breath catches.

It’s an official portrait, the best he could find on his data pad last night, but the softness in Leia’s face tells her it was the right one. The next swipe is another official portrait, of a woman who had been both royalty and senator, warrior and mother. A woman so like Leia. “Padmé…” Leia whispers. She’s not yet used the word mother for her, in the years since they’d found the records. But Cassian knows how much she matters to Leia, and so, he’d included her. He hadn’t, however, added the holo of a young Jedi Knight with blonde hair and eyes that were the same blue as Esperanza’s. Though Luke had sent it, Leia wants nothing to do with the man who had become Darth Vader, and frankly, neither does Cassian.

There’s an image of Luke, one of the ones from some newsreel about his deeds. He’s all bright energy and beaming confidence. Then, the holo changes images again, revealing a sleeping Esperanza, which turns Leia’s smile brighter. She laughs outright at the last holo. “Oh, Cassian. You always look _in pain_ when there’s a holo taken.”

“Come on, that’s a great one,” he finds his own joking tone in time to chuckle, nodding at the holo he’d taken last night, his hair shading his eyes, his posture slouched, everything about him looking utterly distrustful at the idea of being recorded.

Leia turns off the flickering images, and clasps the necklace on. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

There. That’s what he wants to remember from today. He’ll tell Leia about the rest of his visit to the jeweler later. For now, he wants to pretend those faces, and only those, are the legacy his daughter will inherit. He wants to pretend that everything will be as perfect as this morning, for the rest of their lives.

Kay bends down very low and sets the box in front of Esperanza. “For her.” His optics flicker in Leia’s direction. “You don’t get a present.”

“What about me?” Cassian asks.

“I am the best present you have ever had,” K-2S0 replies. “Don’t be greedy.”

Shaking his head, he just pats the droid’s arm. Then, he helps his daughter to cautiously open the small box.

He expects to find a weapon, or maybe a hydrospanner. But inside the box is a small toy. Cassian lifts it out, an eyebrow raised, and then, his jaw drops. “A…” he holds the small droid figure as if it might explode at any moment. Or crumble into dust, like every other dream does. “Kay, how did you… where did you…”

“The blueprints are available online. Quite easy to build, really. It is not sentient, it has no processor. The blueprints stated its articulated limbs as its biggest item of appeal, which I find offensive. Plenty of sentient droids have no limbs and do much greater things than this hunk of metal will.”

“That’s because it’s a toy,” he says. A toy that everyone had talked about, years, worlds, lifetimes ago. A toy he used to dream of owning. One of his sorbinos had one, painted bright green, brought back from some business trip his mamá had gone one. And this one is exactly like that one, except for its coat of paint, a nice shiny red, just like Cassian had always wanted, when he’d been young. When he’d still wanted things.

“What is it, Cassian?” Leia leans in.

“It’s…” the words are hard to say, because they used to matter so much, when so little else did. Now, it’s embarrassing to remember how he recited them. “An Action Captain Battle Droid toy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Leia nods. “Thank you, Kay. That’s very sweet.”

But it was more than sweet. It’s… somehow everything. There are tears in his eyes now, he knows it, feels them wet on his cheeks. He’s holding the toy he used to dream of having, the toy he had been promised he’d have when he turned seven, the toy… that stopped mattering the day Papá died.

“How, Kay?” it’s barely a phrase. He tries again. “How did you know?”

“I record you when you say confusing things.”

“What?” He rubs his face, sadness fading away into his usual resigned bafflement when Kay’s circuits misfire.

“Watch.” Kay turns, and presses the buttons he knows will active the recording device that’s _supposed_ to only be used for records-work. But instead, it shows a fuzzy green holo of a young man resting on a narrow cot, or trying to rest. He’s tossing in his fever-infused slumber, kicking off blankets.

And Cassian knows quite well that the young man was feverish, because he was him. It was some awful virus, caught from some mission or other. It must have been close to the beginning of his work with Kay, because there’s nothing but a faint line of fuzz under his nose.. Which of course Leia notices. Instantly.

“Look at your little mustache! It’s so cute!” Leia jokes, smiling. “Cassian, you were adorable.”

That was certainly a word no one ever used to describe him then. His hair was shaggy, and his face flushed with heat. He mutters, in the holo. Foreign words. Cassian strains his eyes, tuning out only for one moment Esperanza’s babble, to try to hear what his younger self said.

The clip loops, twice. On the third try, he translates, to Leia. “I’m saying…” Now, it’s his own face that’s red, not from fever, but embarrassment. He clears his throat and pretends he;s translating an important document for a commanding officer, not foolish fever whispers from his self. “Papa? Can I have… I would like… an Action Captain Battle Droid. Red. Red, please, if there is one.”

The clip ends. Cassian rubs his eyes. His shoulders shake, and he knows he’d collapse, if it wasn’t for the baby currently nodding off against his chest. He’s got to be strong for her. He’s got to stop running from the past. The tears don’t fall, but he doesn’t hide from the shaking. He instead looks across at Leia, and she reaches for his free hand. Squeezes it, three times. Then, she says, “It’s a perfect gift, Kay. She’ll love it.”

“And Cassian. You like the present too, right?”

“I… I do, Kay. I had no idea…” His words are heavy, clumsy. He’s still got one foot in the past. “I didn’t know you listened.”

“I am always listening. You are important.”

Esperanza squeaks a little agreement, and Cassian shifts her so he can peer down. “Isn’t that a nice present? A little droid friend? Just like one Papa wanted.”

She beams toothlessly at him, and then, she says the word that feels like the greatest present in the galaxy. “Papa!”

“Yes,” he kisses her forehead, gently, because he knows the beard can be a little scratchy. “That’s me.”

He is her papa, and he is, in that moment, completely happy. “Happy Life Day,” he whispers to Esperanza, to Leia, and to Kay. His own little family. The thing he didn’t know he could ever have, the thing he wanted without ever knowing he did. Because some things, some wants, stay buried deep in the heart, waiting, waiting, until they can be found. A heart does not forget love, and a family can be found at any time.


End file.
